


I wanna be a silk flower

by felinedetached



Series: The Horrors You See [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: A severed head is present, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Cults, Blood and Gore, Gen, Grimdark, Kinda, i wanted to cover all my bases, the deaths are off screen but you should remember them from homestuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-02-10 15:53:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12915171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felinedetached/pseuds/felinedetached
Summary: Like I'm never gonna die----------When she snaps back into her body, she looks at you curiously. Turning back to face the road, she takes the wheel from Dave and turns the car around.“Change of plans,” she says, face grave. “We’re going back to my place.”“What?” Dave yelps, “Your place is ten hours away! And we didn’t pack any AJ!”“We’re going back to my place,” she says, “and you, Rose Lalonde, are going to stay in my room for a while. Dave and I have a job to do.”Dave shuts up.----------I'm forever chasing after timeBut everybody dies, diesIf I could buy forever at a priceI would buy it twice, twiceBut if the earth ends in fireAnd the seas are frozen in timeThere'll be just one survivorThe memory that I was yoursAnd you were mine





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [Immortal](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dYGKxxTXqSs) by Marina and the Diamonds
> 
> Happy Birthday to my girls, Rose and Roxy!

When you wake, with the moon shining on your inscribed bones and your muscle and skin building itself as you stand - stand and Watch the boy rebury your coffin, unaware that he already let what was within escape - you look to the moon, the void-light, and you feel your eyes burning from your head but you dance.

 

Perhaps to let yourself recover, or to lose yourself in the music that doesn’t exist, you feel your eyelids slip shut and watch your world plunge back into darkness. You don’t know how much time you lost to the nothing, to the deep dark unawareness, with no feeling, no emotion, no anything. It feels like you just woke up – much like one of your fainting spells from Before, before the Gods, before becoming the Mortal Voice. And as your dance goes on, you lose yourself to those who cost you everything and gave you everything as reparation.

 

As the sun rises, you vanish, although you’re not aware of it. You are aware of the fact that you are not at full power, and that the Moon is the only thing keeping your centuries-old body and bones functional and visible. Of course you know that, though. The Gods would not hide something so vital to your existence from you.

 

Regardless, you’re solid flesh, but not quite _real_ , not yet. When it sets, when the moon shines on your gravestone and lights up the symbols in your bones, you appear again, and you dance again. It takes a while before you stop vanishing, but when that time _does_ come, you welcome it with open arms, and you continue to dance. There is not much else you can do with your life, after all, if what you have can be considered a life at all. Nevertheless, as you gain realness and awareness you gain _knowledge_. Knowledge of the world, how it works in this day and age. You’re not sure what day and age this is, but you know there are things here you have never seen before, and will never see again. Knowledge of this is, of course, crucial to your survival. The Gods would never leave you without this knowledge. They like you as their mortal voice far too much for that.

 

You also gain knowledge of the people who have walked past. Through the carvings that the gods placed on them, you See the effect you have. You See their fear, and their wariness, and realize that you dance in a place that they need. This knowledge is more surprising, as it is not essential to life. It is, however, appreciated. Not that you will tell the Gods this, although they no doubt are already aware.

 

The next time someone joins you in your cemetery, you make a conscious effort to contact those you were made to contact.

 

“Help her,” you tell them softly, through your dance, “do not hinder her as you have others.”

 

After this, your sigils – the Gods’ carvings – tell you different stories.

 

* * *

 

Soon, one of your visitors’ finally attempts to make contact. You knew this day would come – your species has never been good at leaving the Unnatural alone. The person asks you questions you are not quite prepared to answer, but the Gods give you the fortitude to do so.

 

 _We need you to have a reputation,_ they tell you, _there is someone you must attract the attention of._

“Who?” you ask through your dance.

 

 _You will discover that when you are ready,_ they reply, and you do not argue more.

 

* * *

 

As the moments pass, fleeting and laced with void-light and void-dark and confusion and haze, you continue to dance. Dancing pleases those you serve and attracts the attention of those who do not understand you and the Gods like that.

 

You watch, through sigils, as your statue is erected, and as it is torn down. Grey skin and pink eyes are the last things you See through that sigil. Usually, you would be excited at the pink eyes, but these ones are cold. A brilliant fire burns in them, a fire that somehow makes you feel like your muscles have frozen over your bones, and are exposed under the skin that no longer exists.

 

 _She will find you,_ they tell you, _but they will find you first._

 

You do not ask who they are.

 

* * *

 

The moon rises once more, and purple eyes peer into your own. It is a mirror image of your own face, and it is rather disconcerting. You believe that these people may be the mysterious they the Gods were telling you about.

 

“She looks like I did when I was 17, but with more tattoos,” the purple-eyed almost-you tells her partner.

 

“Maybe that’s why the Batterbitch wants her,” the partner says. His eyes are red, hidden behind sunglasses. Not that the sunglasses conceal anything from you – your eyes are void-light and light-light and they are all-seeing. A gift from the gods.

 

“Perhaps,” the purple-eyed almost-you says, “why don’t we ask her?”

 

For this, you stop dancing. Both start at your sudden cessation of movement, which amuses you far more than you imagined it would. Usually, it is movement that startles people. You look the purple-eyed almost-you up and down, quickly, and attempt a smile. She dresses very differently to you, you note, in a white dress and black top, with a pink scarf to top off her outfit. She stares at you blankly. So does her friend, the red-eyed shades-wearer.

 

“Do you mean the daughter of the Gods?” you ask them, because the grey lady with pink eyes is the only one you could think of who would possibly be after you, and the Gods informed you of her relation almost instantly after you Saw her.

 

“Who?” the red-eyed one asks.

 

“The daughter of the Gods,” you say again, slower this time, “the woman with void-ink-grey skin and pink eyes.”

 

“Oh,” says the red-eyed one, “her.”

 

“Yes, we mean her,” the purple-eyed almost-you says, “My name is Rose Lalonde, and this is Dave Strider. We lead the rebellion against her.”

 

At the name, you start. Long ago, before you were The Mortal Voice, that name was what you were called. You don’t think they’d appreciate that, though.

 

“I have not had a name for a long time,” you tell them instead, “but before I died they called me The Mortal Voice.”

 

“The voice for who?” Rose asks you, keeping her voice low.

 

“The Gods,” you reply. Dave looks at you, looks at Rose, and something passes between them. You don’t know what it was, and you don’t really care, and you don’t argue when they tell you to come with them. Perhaps going with them is the reason the Gods chose now to bring you back.

 

Probably not, but it’s worth a shot.

 

* * *

 

“This being, who you refer to as the daughter of the Gods, has many other names,” Rose tells you in the car. You’re not entirely sure where you’re going. “She is known as Her Imperial Condescension, The Batterwitch, The Condesce and Betty Crocker. More colloquially, she’s known as Sea Hitler, Condy or the Batterbitch, as Dave called her.” You nod along, knowing that people tend to stop talking if they think the person they are talking to has stopped listening. You’ve been known to invoke that feeling, usually by accident, but this is something you need to know. “She came to Earth a long time ago, no one’s sure exactly when. One thing we do know, however, is that she’s been building her empire since the beginning and that she has finally decided that now is the time to strike.”

 

“First,” Dave interrupts, “she announced herself. Which seems kind of stupid, honestly, what _true_ alien overlord would announce to the world that they’re trying to take over? Other than Loki, of course, but he’s completely insane.”

 

“Dave, focus,” Rose says, taking over the story again, “First, Guy Fieri got onto the U.S Supreme Court, god knows how. Judges began disappearing, and the constitution was re-written. This year is going to be the most interesting in this war, likely. A band known as the ICP - or Insane Clown Posse - are currently ruling in a dual presidency. They’ve done some pretty terrible things – things I honestly never thought would happen again. Looks like we didn’t learn our lesson with Hitler. Or, perhaps they took the idea from Hitler.”

 

“Rose didn’t think it would happen,” Dave pitches in, driving the conversation away from the guy who had been the leader of Germany back in your time.

 

“Actually, with The Condesce pulling the ropes behind the scenes, I thought it was perfectly plausible.” While they bicker, you absorb what you have learned.

 

Are you to take her down? Did they summon you back as more than their Voice, as the Vessel of their judgement, or perhaps, just as their Vessel?

 

 _You will see, in time,_ they tell you, _but it is your choice whether or not to fight. It will make no difference._

 

“Oh,” you say, both to Rose and Dave’s story and the Gods’ declaration.

 

“Oh?” Rose repeats, her voice tilting up slightly, forcing the single word – sound, really – into a question.

 

“I don’t think I can help, much,” you tell them, “but I do think I am meant to be here.”

 

“How so?” Rose asks, her free hand over Dave’s mouth. You’re not entirely sure what he was going to say that warranted that, but you don’t have any reason to argue his muffling either. Before you can answer, Dave lets out a harsh laugh, and Rose drags her hand away, disgusted. It’s rather obvious he licked her palm, which is immensely amusing. Regardless of your amusement, your voice is calm when you reply to her question.

 

“You are me. Or, this centuries version of me. They promised to bring me back to the person who could take me back to my lover, the Caretaker.”

 

“The Caretaker?” Dave asks you, suddenly more sombre.

 

“Yes,” you reply, “she died long ago.”

 

“As did you,” Rose points out, “and what did you mean by you _are_ me?”

 

“Exactly what I said,” you reply simply, “and yes, I did. But I am the Mortal Voice, and the Gods would not let me die so easily. The Caretaker, however, they deemed unimportant.”

 

“They saved you and not her,” Dave translates, anger clouding his face.

 

“Yes,” you say, again. You feel like you’ve been saying that a lot. This annoys you.

 

“Okay, so, how are we supposed to bring you to your long-dead lover?” Rose asks. She asks a lot of questions. So do you.

 

“If there is me, and there is you, there will be a you-version of her too.” That sentence may not have made sense. You’re not sure how to fix it.

 

“Makes sense,” Dave says, and Rose turns to look at him incredulously. He shrugs. “What? It does.”

 

Then something you’d never expect happens.

 

Rose’s eyes shine with void-light, and you see her tense. Dave reaches over and grabs the wheel from her, steering you all down the road perfectly calmly as his friend – lover? Sister? You’re not sure – proves once and for all that she _is_ you.

 

 _The Seer of Light,_ the Gods tell you, but this, you already know. In the temple, before they called you the Mortal Voice, they’d call you Rose Lalonde. But when they were formal, when in the presence of the Warden, they’d call you Lalonde, or Seer. Seer of Light.

 

When she snaps back into her body, she looks at you curiously. Turning back to face the road, she takes the wheel from Dave and turns the car around.

 

“Change of plans,” she says, face grave. “We’re going back to my place.”

 

“What?” Dave yelps, “Your place is ten hours away! And we didn’t pack any AJ!”

 

“We’re going back to my place,” she says, “and you, Rose Lalonde, are going to stay in my room for a while. Dave and I have a job to do.”

 

Dave shuts up.

 

* * *

 

The ten-hour drive doesn’t feel as long as it really is, and when you get out of the car your legs are still strong. Dave’s, on the other hand, are not. He collapses against the car, whining dramatically. Rose ignores him and walks up the stone steps in front of you, opening the door to a marble mansion.

 

“Welcome to home,” she tells you.

 

* * *

 

They leave you here, in a room Rose says is her own.

 

“I won’t need it,” she tells you, “so you can take it. There’s food in the fridge, but we won’t be gone for more than three days anyway.”

 

She thinks you miss her muttered “hopefully”. You do not.

 

* * *

 

The time passes quickly, as time does, and you don’t think you eat. When Rose and Dave come back, there is blood on their clothing and a darkness in their eyes.

 

“She’ll come for you,” you tell them, as Rose dumps Guy Fieri’s decapitated head onto a pedestal in the hall.

 

“We know,” Dave says, and Rose turns to look at you. One of her hands rests on the edge of the pedestal, and the figure she poses is imposing. “We’re ready for that.”

 

“Good,” you reply, because in the short time you’ve known them you’ve gotten rather attached. You have a habit of doing that, you’ve noticed.

 

“We plan to die,” Rose tells you, and even with the dull apathy that has been almost constantly resting overon you, you feel your heart cry out.

 

“Okay,” you say, because you don’t trust your voice not to break if you say anything else.

 

“I’m sorry Rose,” Rose says, her eyes meeting your own. “But doing this will get you your lover back. Enjoy your time together. Please.”

 

“Okay,” you say again, and you hear your voice crack. Dave practically runs over and pulls you both into a hug.

 

“A bouquet of roses,” he says, voice muffled by your hair, “and one Dave.”

 

“I think a bouquet is more than just two,” Rose says, and there’s laughter in her voice.

 

 _We will send you to sleep,_ the Gods tell you, and you relay their message to Rose and Dave.

 

“Good,” Rose says, and there’s relief in her face. “I would have hated knowing that I left you to hundreds of years of solitude.”

 

“Sleeping is a great way to pass the Time,” Dave agrees, and the way he says Time resonates deep within you.

 

“Sleep is for the weak,” you throw back at both of them, and they stare at you incredulously.

 

“If you say so,” Rose says, and both she and Dave start laughing again. This laughter borders on hysteria, so you pull them both into a hug.

 

“Give her hell,” you whisper, and shove them out the door. Watching them get back into the car, watching them drive to their deaths, your heart twangs again. Ignoring it, you wrap your apathy around you like a blanket and move back into Rose’s room. Looking out the window, you think you see a single void-light tentacle rise from the depths of the ocean. It reminds you of a time long ago, when you cradled the world in void-dark appendages that had been very similar.

 

 _Forget it,_ the Gods tell you, turning your thoughts towards the bed. _Sleep now._

 

So you do.

 

* * *

 

Hundreds of years later, a girl walks into her mother's bedroom for the first time and screams.

 

The girl laying on the bed in that room, surrounded by alcohol and lavender roses, wakes.


	2. Chapter 2

You wake to unholy noise - a girl, screaming, and when you sit up she screams more.

 

“Who are you?” you ask her, and she hits you with a rifle. It hurts - as one would expect - but it does not harm, and she stares at your unmoving form, hits you again, and runs.

 

“Wait!” you call, because you _know her_ , her eyes are the same pink as they had been years ago - this is what the gods had promised you before you went to sleep.

 

She does not wait.

 

* * *

 

The next day, she comes back.

 

“Who are you?” she asks you, mirroring what you had asked her the night previously.

 

“I am Rose Lalonde, the Mortal Voice,” you tell her, because if nothing else you will be honest.

 

“Rose Lalonde was an author, a mother, and a rebel,” she tells you, “but she was never a Mortal Voice, whatever that is.”

 

“I know,” you tell her, “because I know the Rose of which you speak. I am likely better known as the moon-spirit of a graveyard. There will, at least, be stories of me on your news.”

 

She leaves again.

 

* * *

 

When she comes back, she is armed with a laptop.

 

“I found you,” she tells you, “online.”

 

“They call you the Goddess.”

 

You laugh.

 

She leaves again.

 

* * *

 

“Are you really Rose Lalonde?”

  
  
“I am a different Rose Lalonde to the one you know, but yes. Yes, I am.”

 

She leaves.

 

You are growing used to her leaving.

 

* * *

 

“Are you bored?”

 

“Not really. You?”

 

“Often.”

 

* * *

 

“I should introduce you to Dirk.”

 

“Will you?”

 

“No.”

 

* * *

 

“I knew his bro.”

 

“You knew my mom too.”

 

* * *

 

This time, she sits, turns you around. Braids your hair as she talks.

 

“You look at me like you know me,” she says, voice soft, “but you say you lived in the years my mom was around and earlier. How could you know me? I was only born sixteen years ago.”

 

“I knew the you that came before you,” you say, and she sighs.

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

“Neither do I.”

 

She ties off your braid, pulls you onto the bed, and lies down with you.

 

“You slept until I woke you?” she asks.

 

“Yes.”

 

“It’s like you’re sleeping beauty.”

 

“Does that make you my prince?”

 

* * *

 

The next time she comes to see you, she kisses you.

 

You kiss her back.

 

* * *

 

 

She takes you to see the sea, and you sit together at the edge of this carapacian colony, watching the water as it glitters under the pinky-orange light of the setting sun.

 

“This is like, all of those romantic movies,” Roxy says, leaning into you. You’ve never really seen any, so you wouldn’t know. You tell her so.

 

She laughs, delighted and incredulous, and informs you that you’re going to watch some with her, and you’re going to watch them now.

 

You curl up on the couch together, the tv on in the background, showing some ridiculous story about a girl and a boy on a boat, and it’s amazing.

 

Life is amazing. She’s soft, and great to cuddle up to, and when you nuzzle at her neck she strokes your hair. Everything is soft and warm and nice.

 

* * *

 

She shows you many things - her lab, the teleportation ray (she called it something else but that is what it is) and in return you teach her about the Gods, and her mother, and her friend’s brother. She’ll kiss you sometimes, for no reason. When you ask why, she just laughs.

 

“You’re adorable,” she’ll say, “and you’re here.”

 

“I’ll always be here,” you promise, and you mean it, because if there is one thing you have learned it is that you cannot die.

 

That you are forever.

 

And if the Gods are right (and they always are) so is she.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gods, this took forever and its super short (but, if im honest, it was always going to be) but here!
> 
> come yell at me on tumblr [@faeflowerfeline](https://faeflowerfeline.tumblr.com)!

**Author's Note:**

> [The Rose and The Traitor](https://felinedetached.tumblr.com/post/168139374418/andarix-the-rose-and-the-traitor-this-piece) by andarix was a major source of inspiration for this piece - or, well, this chapter.
> 
> Sneaky reference to Sleeping Beauty in there at the end, no longer sneaky now that I have mentioned it. I couldn't resist.


End file.
